Intertwined
by Haberdashing
Summary: Transcendence AU. Three times in which Dipper and Mabel's previous incarnations had intertwined lives, and one time that they didn't.


1916

Private Fritz Sommer still, despite everything, found a modicum of beauty in watching the sun set over the enemy trenches.

It should fill him with fear more than awe by now, he knew. The sunset, though beautiful, signaled danger these days, the fight that now engulfed his very existence begun anew. But the young man who scribbled notes to himself during every free hour found it strangely comforting. He wondered if his family, residing in a small village far from Fritz's present location, were watching the sunset as well, seeing it fill the sky with the same beautiful hues of orange and red.

The man was so busy watching the sunset that it took him a second to notice the grenade that had fallen just a few feet away.

The other soldiers, occupied with a game of poker, noticed it even later than Fritz did. Most were able to stand up, and a handful reacted quickly enough to flee the area.

Fritz, meanwhile, ran in the other direction. He sped towards the weapon, mind focused on a single goal, and pounced upon it…

And found himself colliding not with mud and metal, but with another man, one who had thought the same way and moved just a split second faster.

For a moment, Fritz and the other man, whose face he recognized as belonging to one Private Emil Engelmann, made eye contact, their gazes communicating in that brief period what even the most hurried words could not.

And then the grenade went off.

Even cushioned as he was from the blow, it was still strong enough to knock Fritz to the ground, the impact sure to leave him with some serious aches and bruises. But as for Emil…

Well. Emil was no more. All that remained of him were bloody shreds of the body that had once held his spirit.

The two hadn't had much time to bond, as each had only been in the army for a few fleeting weeks, but Fritz had taken a liking to Emil almost immediately. Emil was even younger than Fritz was, either pushing the lower end of the limit for soldier's age or downright breaking it. He was talkative, always willing to chat about any number of topics, from home life (he had three sisters and a sweetheart that he was planning to propose to after the war) to what the meaning of life was (making the most of it, he always argued) to whether it was going to rain (probably not). But what stood out most about Private Engelmann was his constant smile. Day or night, rain or shine, that young man- no, a boy, he was still a boy regardless of whether he'd lied about his age after all- always seemed to find something to smile about. Many of the other soldiers in their unit found his constant cheeriness and garrulousness irritating, but Fritz saw it as a comfort, something to distract him from the horrors they faced.

Emil had still had a smile on his face when shielding the others from the grenade.

That final grin, that sign of happiness even in the face of death, would haunt young Fritz for the rest of his life.

1862

"Let's get married."

Newton's gaze snapped upwards to meet that of the woman sitting across from him, the book that he had been perusing sliding off his lap and onto the floor.

"Well, um... I'm flattered, Martha, but I'm afraid I never- I mean, I didn't-"

Martha burst into raucous laughter.

"Oh my gosh, the look on your _face_ , Newt! If only you could see yourself!"

Newton relaxed the muscles that he hadn't realized had tensed up and, while still focusing on Martha, began to blindly grasp for his fallen book.

"So you _were_ joking, then?"

"Well…" Martha's eyes wandered to a portrait on the wall as she began to twiddle her thumbs. "Not exactly."

Newton stilled his hand, though he remained in the awkward half-crouched position which the quest to retrieve the tome had required.

"Not exactly? How can you be _not exactly_ joking about marriage?"

She blurted out the words in one fell swoop.

"You know my father wants me to get married already before I become an old maid and he's right, of _course_ he's right, I know I need to, but there's no boy that I feel that way about but I don't want them to know that, and there's another reason but I can't tell a soul about it, I just _can't_!" Her voice started strong, but grew weak and warbling by the sentence's end.

Newton hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to voice what was on his mind, to respond as he wished to rather than how he ought to. He sat up as he did, though even with his back at its straightest, he was barely taller than the girl in the other seat.

Soon enough, the boy's curiosity won out against propriety.

"Is this _other reason_ by any chance named Ettie?"

Martha buried her head in the folds of her skirt, her dark hair dangling so as to obscure her reddening face.

"You know about me and Ettie?" she mumbled, the words just loud enough to be heard through the muffling fabric.

Newton gave a humorless laugh. "You are many things, dear Martha, but subtle is not one of them. Half the town's been gossiping about the two of you."

Martha buried her head deeper in her lap, wrapping her arms around her head and chest. The only sound that emerged from this cocooned figure was a moaned "nooooo."

Newton stood up, nearly tripping over his book in the process, and walked over to Martha's side. He tentatively rested his arm on her shoulder, which elicited a quiet but not unhappy murmur.

"Calm down. It will all be fine." A moment's pause, and then he added, "I accept."

"What?"

Newton spoke a bit louder, though he was fairly certain that the girl had heard him the time before. "I accept your proposal."

In the blink of an eye, Martha's arms returned to her sides and she looked up at Newton, face red and splotchy, eyes glistening with some mixture of excitement and tears. "Do you truly mean it?"

"I do. I couldn't care less if you're-" he waved his hand around in the air vaguely- "of the Sapphic persuasion. I will _always_ be here for you, dear Martha, no matter what. You are not alone."

Briefly, Newton's thoughts produced the image of a man whose chin was perpetually covered in scraggly stubble, whose suits always perfectly accented his sizable muscles, who had the most extraordinary taste in hats yet always seemed to have a way of pulling off even the most eccentric of the lot.

Yes, Martha was not alone, in more ways than she likely thought.

Martha wrapped her arms around the boy's shoulders. "Oh, thank you thank you _thank you_! This means the world to me!"

"Very well." Newton couldn't help but break into a grin as he added, "So, where should I buy the ring?"

1657

Much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, Matsu did have times when she regretted having Ai.

After all, the pregnancy had changed her life in ways that could never be reversed, and sometimes her mind wandered to thoughts of what might have been. She might have had a different husband, one who could be with her all the time instead of just in between voyages, or, if still a sailor, at least one who spent his shore time caring for his wife and child rather than drunkenly carousing. She might have lived in a large, beautiful home rather than a shabby shack in the unfashionable end of Edo. She wouldn't have had to endure the glares of those who had gleaned the true reason for her hasty marriage, who judged her for her lapses and for the one who had caused her lapse.

But Ai herself was the perfect child. Matsu dreamed of many things, but never of having more children, better-behaved children, a boy rather than a girl. She loved Ai with all her heart, embracing all her imperfections, even as she sometimes, guiltily, wished that life had gone a different way.

Ai was a mistake, true, but she was the most wonderful, precious, darling mistake that a woman could ask for.

Matsu only wished that she could do more for her daughter, regretting that she had only what her husband left of his pay to the family to use to provide for her daughter, then regretting the time spent away from home when she made the decision to supplement that pay through the means of activities that her husband would never hear word of. She taught the girl all that she could, wearing old clothes so she could see Ai's eyes light up when she played with a new doll, hoping that her daughter's life would turn out better than her own.

It was late on a warm spring night, as she walked back from a successful work expedition with a fistful of money clutched tightly in her hand, when Matsu saw the fire.

The fire was hard to miss, as large as it was, engulfing the neighborhood in heat and smoke and flames. Matsu's ambling walk turned into a sprint as she prayed more fervently than she ever had before that somehow, miraculously, her home had been spared from the widespread destruction.

Such good fortune, alas, was not hers to have. Picking out her house from all the others might have been a difficult task for the untrained eye, but the woman had little difficulty identifying her personal patch of flames. Her grip loosened, and the money dropped to the ground as she sped through the entranceway, a single word on her mind.

 _Ai._

The girl was asleep, her slumber so sound that not even the chaos erupting around her could disturb it, but a gentle shake of the shoulders from her mother was enough to awaken her. The two ran silently, desperately trying to navigate a safe passageway through the maze of burning debris that surrounded them before it was too late.

Then Ai stumbled, her big toe catching on the half-burned remains of her favorite doll.

The girl was back on her feet in a moment's time, but the delay cost them time that they could not spare.

Matsu could have gotten out alone, she knew. She could have waited outside rather than rushing in, could have abandoned her daughter and fled by herself rather than waiting for her child to regain her bearings. Some might have considered her decision to do otherwise, to risk everything in an attempt to save the daughter she hadn't even wanted, to be the gravest of mistakes.

But if protecting her daughter was a mistake, well, Matsu knew that it was the best mistake she could ever make.

As the fire surrounded mother and daughter, as the flames licked away at their flesh and the smoke crept into their lungs, the two stood hand in hand, connected until the very end.

?

Ursa smirked, still more amused than frightened by the glare of the child below him.

"D̘̘̦̟̼̱̞̽ͥ͝i̞ͥͣ̋̐̌̓ͮ͡d͂ͭͪͪͨ҉͇͍͉͇̰͈̖ ̪̫̱̰y̻̺̮̮̼̙̽ͮ̄o̟͕̯̊͌͂̽̅ͤ̅̀ü ̙̥̤̘̭̤̀r̺̱̟̍̚ȩ́̓a̟̩ͩ̈́̿͆̀ͨͣl͍̰̃ͬͪl̹͔̺̩̪̜̒̎̌̏̂͒y͎͚̪̗͙̿̔ͪ ̣̫̲̠̪t̝̲ͣͅḩ̳͖͈̪̱̮̯̓ͦ̉̂̓i͇̣̩͋͋̿ň̊̊͌ͥ̓̿͠k͏͖ ̭̜ͤ̆̉̍t͎̣̜͑͑̍h̄̅ͮ̃͗̃͏̯̹̰̬̜̘a͎̯̥͍̠͚ț̵͋ ̭̗̣̬̹͙̎̄̾ͬ̚͢c̯͖̻͎̝̣̳̏̑̌̎̓i͙͖̻͎͓̩̰ͣͦr̳͉̭̯̫̺̎͑c̊̊͑ͥ͝l̡͕̗̜ė͓̖̼͖͈̠̭̈̈ͯ͐ ̶̗͓̙͗͐w̾̄̎̎̇ǒ͔̘̤̗̙̥̀̈́u̠̰̟̠̠͉̺ͮ̊̀l̻̰͔͈͒͠d̛̥̘̟̰̗̝̟̅̄̈́ ͎̳̖̪̖̻̏͐s͖̥̖̦̠ͪͪ̆̓̓́ͅt̷͍̯͖̥̗̃͑̓͒ȍ̶͙̥̗̫͎̮̰p̜̜̖̜ͣͪͅ ̦͇̘̥̕m͉͕̥͊e̲͊̇̋͠,̯͍͓̲̘̹ ̞̩̗̪̍b̥̜͈̱̤̭ͮͬ͐̾̿ͦ́o̴̮̲ͤ̿̐ͣ̃̄ẙ̸̙̳̺̤̞̮?̵̭̞̼̹͎͚"

The golden-haired boy didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't hesitate in the slightest before replying.

"Not really."

A practiced arm spun the tightly-held wooden staff around, forming a perfect circle with both figures in the center, then sketching a number of arcane symbols in the blink of an eye.

"Ḡ͒̆̔͑̚҉͚̱̖̬̭i͍͔̩̘̩̭͆͋̓v̤̳̥̝̑̊ͯͯͧë̷͔̝̯͖̤̰ ͌͐i̛̥̼̗ͭͦ̐̿t̝̤̼̓̓͂ͧͯͨͮ ̸̖̾̇u̷̘̣͉̝̗̮̘̾ͤp̡̹̱̑͐̌ͬ̆̚,͙̼̂̐̍̈̒ ̻̮̫͕ͩ̃͋̀P̦̹͕̮̰ͭͤͯy͕̤̜̮͕͚̿͛͒̌̿̔r̯͢ą̰̩̙͍̫ͦͯ͗̉̆ͅm̴̻̭̞͉͑i̪̝̮̭̖̗ͅd̛̞̘͖͖.̜̭̻̹͕̄̏ͅ ̨̑ͧY̧̿ͦ̄͆ò̝ͦ̽̿̈ų̟͕͎̠̫̩̔ͩ ̭̤̹̖̫a̶͉̣͉̖ͭl̰͉͛͗r̎ͭ̓͊͏ͅe̟̹̺̬̞̩̟ͦ̅̏̇̀a̷͎̼͇̱͆̓ͥd̰̺̟̯̠͊̑y̓̒ͪ̑̚ ͉͍̣̃̑̊l̝͈͑ͩͦ͐͑ȏͭ҉͔s̢̜͇̺͎ͤ̀̔̈́̋ṫ̆̅́.̶̠̖̻̣̯̑ͩ͂̂̋͆͋"

"Did I?"

A few quick words, a candle grabbed and used to light another. Ursa could have ended the boy's attempts- indeed, ended the boy's _existence_ \- with no more effort than a stray thought, but he was having too much _fun_ watching him struggle against harsh reality, waiting to see when the futility of his cause would strike.

The neon yellow light that had been permeating the area grew stronger and stronger with every moment, soon blotting out the sun. It was spreading across the globe now, had already reached all but the most minor of settlements, and was currently navigating its way across every nook and cranny of the earth's surface.

And this boy thought a few hasty scratches in the sand could stop that? Could stop _him_ , when so many others over the centuries had tried and failed?

Poor, pathetic little human...

"I'm going to stop you. You know that, right? I'll end you, end every last one of _your kind._ "

Another empty threat. That was, what, the thirteenth one of the evening? Yawn.

Ursa tried not to let the boy's allusion to his omniscience strike home, tried not to think about how his visions of the future from this point on were hazy to the point of being nigh-indecipherable. He was changing the world here, of course that would make the future difficult to predict. That was all. It had to be.

The demon was so caught up in thought that he didn't notice the boy's chanting until it was too late.

The circles lit up as one, bare dirt scratches transformed into intricate glowing runes that floated in the air, surrounding the two of them in a magical forcefield, blue light fighting against the yellow.

The unnatural yellow light that the demon had released began to recede.

"W̬͓̞̺̥̦̉͒̽ͣ̾Ḧ͕͓̦́̿ͨ͋̈̉̀͜Ǎ͍͚ͬͦ̿T̤̤͓̮̆̓̽ͅ?̳͙̥̞̯̹̠̈́ͦ͘"

The golden-haired boy just shook his head and laughed.

And then he realized. The light wasn't just receding, it was doubling back on him. It had done its job, more or less- he could feel each magical soul being extinguished, each source of power strangled into dormancy- but while he had changed the world, now the world was back to change _him_.

Ursa flew downwards, the light following his every motion. It was fixed on him, then, not on the spot where he had been floating. Not that he could have dodged it anyway, not when the burning blue lights encircled his form, leaving him trapped in a minuscule section of the near-infinitely-vast world, no props with which to defend himself...

Save for one.

The demon did the only thing he could think to and pulled himself towards the boy.

As the light rebounded, it hit them both. The boy was struck in the eye, which was instantly replaced with unmarred flesh, as though there had never been anything but bare skin there at all. But Ursa got the brunt of it, and it _burned_ , there were kinds of pain that he delighted in but this was pure agony, and he could barely think as he pushed against the boy, desperately trying to undo what this mere human child had done, to draw from the boy's power so as to revive himself, to do _something_ other than give in to what he now realized was his impending fate-

And the boy pushed back, no longer laughing, soul fighting soul-

Ursa was fighting a losing battle.

The future that had appeared so hazy to him suddenly appeared in a flash of clarity. He realized, with a deep, dull certainty, that this life of his was drawing to an end, though it would not be his last. But his future was not the only one forever disfigured by the light. That golden-haired boy- Pyramid- Bael...

Well. So much for that whole "destroy all demons" plan of his, huh?

There was screaming and laughter and Ursa wasn't sure what part of it was his.

It hadn't been an unproductive life, truth be told. Ursa had certainly made his mark on the world, for better or for worse. His name was not one that would soon be forgotten.

But none would mourn his passing.

Incidentally, young Bael, bereft of both friends and family, would share this fate. The world would be too focused on the devastation that Ursa had caused to give any thought to the disappearance of one orphan boy.

The final thought that the demon strung together before succumbing to the searing pain was how, if the fight had involved more than just the two of them, if just one other person had interceded to prevent that chain of events from unfolding once more, things could have been very different indeed.


End file.
